


Love Letters

by ShadowWolf



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowWolf/pseuds/ShadowWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phillip first writes to him, completely out of the blue, Thomas doesn't know what to think. Before the war, before the whole attempted blackmail fiasco, Thomas would have jumped at the chance to leave Downton. Things are different now, though, and he has no idea what he's going to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Letters

**Author's Note:**

> The title is somewhat misleading; I'm just really bad at naming things. If you have a suggestion for a better title, let me know.
> 
> This was going to be so much longer but I gave up towards the end; I'm not so good at writing longer fics.

When Phillip first writes to him, completely out of the blue, Thomas doesn’t know what to think. It’s been years since their last correspondence, and even then Phillip had only written to tell Thomas the news of his engagement, and that Thomas was not to contact him again – he needn’t have worried; Thomas hadn’t planned to, anyway.

But the writing on the envelope is unmistakably Phillip’s, though it takes Thomas a moment to place it when the letter is handed to him over breakfast, and he dithers for a moment before slipping the envelope into his pocket. Whatever the bastard wants, he decides, it can wait until later; Thomas is fairy sure that, whatever it is, it isn’t something he wants to be reading with everyone watching.

Jimmy eyes Thomas over his cup of tea, arching his brow, but Thomas keeps his gaze pointedly averted. Friends or no friends, Jimmy should learn to mind his own business.

* * *

The letter is a heavy weight in his pocket all day, and Thomas itches to find a moment alone to steal away and read it, away from prying eyes. But of course Carson, perhaps knowing that Thomas’s mind isn’t on his work, keeps him busy all day, and Jimmy doesn’t help either, with his curious stares and silent questions. Thomas avoids him as much as possible. In the year that they’ve really been friends, there has been very little that Thomas has kept from Jimmy – there hasn’t been much point, when Jimmy already knows his greatest secret. He no doubt wonders why Thomas is starting now.

When the family finally – finally! – go to bed, Thomas almost sighs with relief. The letter is burning a hole in his pocket, and he practically bounds up the stairs to his own room, where he can read the letter in peace. And yet, now that he’s alone, now that he _can_ read it, he almost doesn’t want to. Phillip is his past – a past he’d damn well like to forget – and Thomas would like to know where he gets off, writing to him again, stirring things up.

He undresses quickly, and then sits for a long time on his bed, the letter held in both hands, with the silence of the house pounding in his ears. Dare he open it? Dare he tear open an old wound for the sake of some closure? His hands tremble for a brief moment, before he finally tears open the envelope. He’ll at least see what the man has to say for himself.

‘ _Dear Thomas,’_ It reads (Thomas snorts derisively),

‘ _I appreciate that it has been a long time since we saw each other last, and I know that our last meeting was not what one could call pleasant. Things were said and done that cannot be undone, and I can only apologise for what a fool I was. I could not recognise a good thing when I had it, and I sincerely regret how things ended between us. Truly._

‘ _I write because I am in need of a butler. Bale is on his way out, I’m afraid, and means to leave us as soon as we find a suitable replacement. Of course I thought of you. You were always so ambitious, Thomas, you would do well at a larger house than Downton. Carson is hardly likely to leave any time soon, and certainly not wilfully. It will be years before you can take over Downton, but I am in need of a butler immediately. The job is yours if you want it._

‘ _I would like to see you, Thomas. Very much. I will write again with a date and a time and you need not come if you do not want to, but I should like to see you. It has been a long time. Perhaps too long. But it is time we put the past behind us._

‘ _Regards,_

‘ _Phillip.’_

For a moment, Thomas doesn’t move – he doesn’t think he _can_ move – and then, slowly, as if not even entirely aware of his own actions, he lies down and does his very best to go to sleep, the letter still clenched firmly in his hand.

Tomorrow is Thomas’s day off; he’ll have plenty of time to worry over it then, and some matters can only be dealt with after a full night’s rest. Not that Thomas will get much sleep.

* * *

Before the war, before the whole attempted blackmail fiasco, Thomas would have jumped at the chance to leave Downton. Back then it had been all he’d wanted; Downton had been but a stepping stone to his future career. Now though, things are different – he’s in a position of authority, high on the career ladder, he has friends, he’s fairly well liked. For the most part, Thomas thoroughly enjoys working at Downton.

He thinks of Phillip, and the last time they spoke, and wonders whether he can even trust the Duke, whether the Duke can even possibly trust him.

There’s a loud knock on the door, and Thomas bolts upright, hastily shoving the letter under his pillow.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.” Jimmy calls from the other side of the door, “Hurry up, my hands are about to fall off.”

Thomas snorts out a quiet laugh despite himself, and moves to open the door for him. No sooner is it open than Jimmy barges in, laden down with a tray of breakfast.

“Mrs Patmore started fussing when you didn’t come down to breakfast. She thinks you’re sickening for something.”

Thomas very much doubts that, but he doesn’t comment on it, “I’m fine.” He says around a mouthful of dry toast, “There’s nothing wrong with sleeping in on your day off, is there?”

Jimmy hums, looking thoughtfully at Thomas, and Thomas can’t help but flinch under his steady gaze, “I suppose this has nothing to do with that letter you got yesterday.” Jimmy ventures.

“Nothing at all.” Thomas agrees, and then, after a pause, “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Well, I-”

“Get to work, _James_.”

Jimmy lets out a huff of indignation, turns tail and leave. Thomas watches his exit amusedly, trying very hard to ignore the ache in his chest. Cheeky bastard should learn to mind his own business anyway.

* * *

Thomas spends the rest of the day reading and rereading the letter, conflicted and confused and utterly, utterly frustrated. By the time Jimmy comes up in the evening, with leftover cake from Her Ladyship’s dinner party and a stolen bottle of wine that Thomas will no doubt be blamed for, Thomas is practically tearing his hair out.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or am I going to have to guess?”

Thomas hesitates briefly, and then sighs and takes the bottle of wine from Jimmy. He takes a large swig and then says – quickly, as though he cannot get the words out fast enough – “I’ve been offered a job with the Duke of Crowborough as his butler. I don’t know whether or not I should take it.”

Jimmy looks disconcerted, to say the least, “Well – why wouldn’t you!?”

_Because I don’t trust him, because it may be his handwriting but it doesn't sound at all like him, because I’ve changed, because I’m happy here, because I’d miss you too much._ Thomas settles for the first one.

Jimmy is quiet for a moment, “You knew him?” He asks, and Thomas can’t see his face clearly – his head is tilted down to stare at the bottle Thomas had handed back to him – but his meaning is fairly evident from the tone of his voice. He’s obviously uncomfortable.

“We were well acquainted,” Thomas admits, “But we didn’t part on good terms. I wouldn’t put it past him to have concocted an elaborate scheme to get back at me.” Though, ten years later, it does seem a bit unlikely.

Jimmy looks interested now, but he takes another mighty swig of wine before looking back up at Thomas.

“I tried to blackmail him,” Thomas explains, filled with both an odd sense of pride at his scheme and the crippling embarrassment that it hadn't worked, “I could have ruined him.”

“But you decided to be the bigger man?” Jimmy suggests jokingly, handing the bottle back to Thomas.

Thomas snorts, “But he caught me and burned my proof. And now he wants me as his butler.”

Jimmy frowns, “What are you going to do?”

Thomas shakes his head, takes a long drink of wine, and sighs, “I don’t know.”

* * *

In the end, he does nothing. He tucks the letter in his bedside drawer, beneath a photo of his parents and a book of poetry he hasn’t read since he was a teenager, and he carries on with his life as he was before. He and Jimmy don’t speak of it again, Thomas carries on with his duties like the good employee he’s almost fooled everyone into thinking he is, and he almost manages to forget about it … for a while, at least.

Exactly one week after the first letter arrived, Carson hands him another envelope with that same familiar handwriting, which Thomas barely glances at before he’s slipping it into his pocket. Jimmy meets his gaze over the table and, this time, Thomas just about manages a half-hearted smile, before the first bell is ringing and they all go their separate ways.

His mind isn’t on the job for the rest of the morning, and he skips out on the servant’s luncheon to steal away to his room, where he sits down on the bed and rips open the envelope, tearing the letter slightly in the process. It’s much shorter than the first:

‘ _Dear Thomas,_

‘ _I cannot decide if your silence means you are still thinking over my offer, or whether you find you cannot forgive me. I should like to know either way, though I sincerely hope it is the former._

‘ _I will be in Downton this coming weekend and I would like to see you. You will find me in the Grantham Arms, in a private room in the back. Even if you do not wish to take up the position, I would like to see you, Thomas. Despite it all, I have missed you a great deal._

‘ _I hope to see you then,_

‘ _Phillip’_

“Good news?”

Thomas starts, and scrambles momentarily to hide the letter (though it’s hardly incriminating) before he realises that it’s only Jimmy.

“He’s coming to Downton this weekend. He wants me to meet him.”

Something odd passes over Jimmy’s face – an expression Thomas can’t quite put a name to – but it’s hardly there before it’s gone and Jimmy is leaning casually against the door frame, “Will you go?”

“I think I have to.” Thomas replies.

* * *

He spends the next few days in something of a daze; it doesn’t take a genius to see that his mind isn’t on his job, and Carson gives him hell for it for the rest of the week, but Thomas can’t bring himself to care. For the rest of the week, he hands tremble, and his stomach feels like lead, and he can’t think why he’s so nervous. It’s only _Phillip._

When Saturday rolls around, Thomas gets all of his work done in as little time as possible, and then begs the evening off. Carson looks ready to start a row, but Mrs Hughes waves him off. It’s not as if his absence is detrimental to the night’s proceedings; with Lady Mary and Lady Edith both in London, and no guests to entertain, they hardly need two footmen _and_ an under-butler.

Mrs Hughes sends Thomas on his way with a wave of her hand, and Thomas half-walks, half-jogs all the way to the village. He gets there in record time, but dawdles for a while outside the Grantham Arms, anxiety rolling over him in waves.

It’s busy inside – though still quieter than usual at this time – and loud, and the piano in the corner is out of tune but that doesn’t stop the man from playing. It’s not at all where you’d expect to find the Duke of Crowborough, but then he supposes Phillip could hardly meet him anywhere … high-class.

He’s directed to a room in the back, right at the end of the hallway, and he stops outside the door, hand raised to knock, but still unsure.

“Is that you, Thomas?” Calls a voice from inside – the same and yet different from the last time he heard it, “I can see your shadow under the door. You may as well come in.”

Thomas hesitates for just a moment longer, and then pushes open the door.

“You look different.” Is the first thing Phillip says, “Older.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Phillip is _balding_ , and Thomas is somewhat embarrassed that that is the first thing he focusses on. He looks tired more than anything, but he’s still able to manage his usual smile – or rather, _smirk_.

“You didn’t answer my letters.”

Thomas shrugs, hovering in front of the closed door, “I didn’t know how to. Your Grace.” He tacks on at the end, an afterthought.

Phillip grimaces, “Oh don’t start all that; you’re here as my guest. Sit down.”

Thomas doesn’t sit, but he moves further into the room, close enough that Phillip could reach out to him if he so wished.

“You don’t trust me.” Phillip guesses, before Thomas can even open his mouth to speak, “I don’t blame you. I wasn’t particularly trust _worthy_ the last time we met. But things are different now, Thomas.”

Thomas struggles to believe that.

“I married lovely Jane,” Phillip continues, “and she saved my estate and gave me an heir, but we were not and never will be in love. We both knew that going in. We’re going to divorce; there’ll be a minor scandal, of course, but nothing I can’t deal with. She has another man in London, and, for all intents and purposes, it will appear as though I am the victim. She’ll leave Edward with me – the woman never did have much of a maternal instinct – but it will be years before he’s old enough to help me in the running of the estate. I can’t do it alone, Thomas.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but Thomas gets the general idea.

“You still want me?”

Phillip’s smile is equal parts fond and patronising, “Of course I still want you, Thomas,” He moves to catch Thomas’s hand in his, but thinks better of it when Thomas flinches back, and he lets his hand drop.

“I never stopped wanting you. You’re a devious little bastard who tried to ruin me,” (Thomas’s lip quirks up in a half-smirk; he can’t help it), “But I never stopped wanting you. The job’s yours if you want it, Thomas; it’ll be just the two of us. And Edward.”

There’s a long pause in which Thomas doesn’t really know what to say, doesn’t know what to _think._ There’s a part of him that would love to say yes immediately, to leave Downton and all of its bad memories and come and work for Phillip. But there’s a larger part of him that he doesn’t think will ever be able to trust Phillip again, a part of him that doesn’t believe Phillip could trust _him_ again. Thomas doesn’t take kindly to being manipulated.

“Unless there’s someone else.”

Thomas starts, “I’m sorry?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to drop everything for me if there was someone else – a reason for you to stay at Downton.”

Thomas thinks of Jimmy – gorgeous, lovely Jimmy – and how much better things have been between them. Then he thinks of that night, over a year ago now, and ‘I can never give you what you want’, and sighs.

“There’s no-one else.” He says, “But I need time to think.”

“Of course.” Phillip replies instantly, “Take as long as you need. I’ll wait for you.”

* * *

Thomas eats supper with the Duke – an hour of awkward conversation and forced smiles on Thomas’s part – and then has to rush home lest Carson lock him out – he’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. Carson doesn’t take kindly to those who are late home.

Jimmy’s on him the minute he gets inside, “Was he there? What did he say? Are you going to take the job?”

Alfred, who's sitting at the table in the servants' hall, looks up sharply, and Thomas scowls at him as he passes. He ignores Jimmy's questions and takes the stairs two at a time, “Anyone would think you wanted me to leave.”

When he reaches the landing and turns back, Jimmy looks rather flushed – embarrassed, “Of course not. It’s not even as if you leaving would earn me a promotion – no one _needs_ an under-butler-”

“No one _needs_ footmen or maids, either.”

Jimmy ignores him, “I just want what’s best for you. We’re friends, aren’t we? That’s what friends do – they want what’s best for each other.”

Thomas’s only friend before Jimmy had been O’Brien (maybe Daisy, at a stretch) and Thomas is quite certain that she had only ever wanted the best for herself – Thomas had only been useful to her, “I wouldn’t know.” He says, and sees Jimmy roll his eyes.

“If you’re trying to change the subject onto your own ridiculous self-loathing, it’s not going to work. Are you leaving or aren’t you?”

Thomas stops in the doorway to his own bedroom, and sighs, “I don’t know. I think he's genuine enough; he does seem to have changed, but the man's a damn good actor, and I don't take kindly to being manipulated.” He lets out a frustrated groan, and practically throws himself down onto his bed, “Tell me what to do, Jimmy.” He begs, “I don't know what to do.”

Jimmy is silent for so long that Thomas has to glance up to check that he hasn't left. He's still there, though, staring pensively at Thomas.

“What?” Thomas asks, “What is it?”

Jimmy opens his mouth as if he's going to say something, but then he shakes his head and takes a step out into the hallway, “See you in the morning, Mr Barrow.”

He's gone before Thomas can even think to reply.

* * *

Thomas wakes to a hand on his shoulder, shaking him roughly, “Thomas. _Wake up_!”

He jerks awake and scrambles into a sitting position, but it's only Jimmy, watching him almost nervously from where he's kneeling at Thomas's bedside.

“What in god's name are you doing?” Thomas hisses, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He glances at the clock on the mantle and groans quietly, “It's 2 o'clock in the bloody morning. What do you want!?”

“Idontwantyoutogo.” The words are spoken so fast they're slurred together, completely indecipherable.

“What?”

Jimmy shifts awkwardly, the floorboards creaking under his knees, then squares his shoulders and says again, louder and slower, “I don't want you to go. I don't want you to leave Downton.” He looks, for a moment, as if he might say something else, but then, just as he had a few hours earlier, he closes his mouth and shakes his head, waiting for Thomas to speak.

Thomas doesn't. He stares at Jimmy for a long while and then lies back down with a long-suffering sigh, “You woke me up at _2 o'clock in the morning_ to tell me that?”

“Thomas.” Jimmy complains.

“I thought you wanted me to leave.”

“I want you to be happy, Thomas. That doesn't mean I want you to leave.”

Thomas frowns, “What _do_ you want, Jimmy.”

Jimmy looks more than a little bit upset, “I don't know. I -” He cuts himself off, and runs a lightly trembling hand through his hair. Thomas aches to reach out to him, to reassure him, “I'm not good at dealing with emotions. It makes me uncomfortable. I panic. I push people away.”

Thomas shouldn't dare hope, but … “What do you want?” He asks again.

“I want you.” Jimmy decides after a moment, then flushes bright red, “I want you to be happy and I think you'd happy if you left Downton but I don't want you to. I want you to stay with me.”

Thomas holds back a gleeful laugh and nods, “Then I'll stay.”

“You will?”

Finally Thomas reaches out for Jimmy, cupping his face in his hands. He won't kiss him, no matter how much he wants to – not just yet, “I'll stay, and we'll work this out together – we'll take it slow, I promise.”

Jimmy's lips curl up into a tentative smile, “I can do slow.”

* * *

“Are you really leaving, Thomas?” Daisy asks at breakfast the next morning, as she's placing a plate of toast on the table.

Thomas frowns at her, “Why on earth would I be leaving? I have everything I need right here at Downton.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I may have stolen Jimmy's “I'm not good at dealing with emotions” line from Waterloo Road, because I really liked the idea of Jimmy being like Lorraine and being really bad at feelings, and him doing everything that he did because he was panicking about his feelings for Thomas and panicking about someone finding out … and I think I'm finally getting Jimmy feels.


End file.
